


Paris Nights

by dennih23



Category: White Collar
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-04-10
Packaged: 2018-03-22 04:58:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3715984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dennih23/pseuds/dennih23
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little Neal Caffrey angst for Elrhiarhodan’s birthday</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paris Nights

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elrhiarhodan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elrhiarhodan/gifts).



> A/N: Also fills the in vino veritas square on my Trope Bingo Card  
> Unbeta’d – all mistakes belong to me
> 
> Disclaimer: Not mine, White Collar belongs to Jeff Eastin
> 
> The lovely artwork is by Kanarek13

 

 

Neal sprinted across the street, weaving between the noon day traffic. He ducked inside the Louvre to escape the rain. Once inside he removed his overcoat, shook off the rain droplets, and slung it over his shoulder. Lucie, one of the docents, greeted him and offered to hang his coat up in the employee area. Neal had spent so much time in the museum the staff knew him by name and considered him an unofficial member of their team.

They adored the stories of Jeffrey Simms, the wealthy American businessman who enjoyed the finer things in life. Many times he offered his assistance in showing guests around if they were short-handed. If they knew his true identity, Neal Caffrey, suspected art thief, they wouldn’t have let him anywhere near the place.

Accepting Lucie’s offer, Neal thanked her, a bright smile on his face. She disappeared with his coat and he turned and headed off to spend the dreary afternoon in the company of the masters. Roaming the hallways he planned one elaborate heist after another. Plans he knew he would never follow through on, if he did, two people would immediately know he was alive and would reach out to find him. That was something he could not allow to happen.

On days when he didn’t visit the museum he traveled to the outlying cities around Paris. On these trips he met other travelers who would often find their wallets missing. He knew it was an unnecessary risk but he couldn’t resist the allure. He enjoyed knowing that he could still pick a pocket without being noticed, and the billfolds always found their way back to their rightful owners. Neal had promised Peter that we would go straight and he planned on keeping that promise – in his own way.

Today the bleak weather matched Neal’s mood. He was unhappy and he missed Mozzie’s companionship. His loneliness like an open wound, it hurt to not have that kinship with anyone. Peter was the other causality in his decision to disappear. He didn’t regret what he did, but he had to admit there were many times he felt friendless. He missed his family and now he couldn’t afford to let anyone get close to him.

Outside the thunder rumbled and rattled the building as Neal wandered around hoping to snap out of his current state of discontent. Eventually he found himself in front of the Venus de Milo. He stood in front of the statue for ten minutes trying to appreciate its beauty but felt nothing. Neal continued to stroll through the wing until he found a place to sit and watch other patrons go by.

A couple walked passed him; they were holding hands, the woman leaning against her partner. It should have been sweet but the couple only reminded him of Peter and Elizabeth. He watched the pair embrace, their joy only made him melancholy. He hung his head, missing his friends. Moments later a group of men walked by arguing which artist was superior. Their chatter reminded him of all his conversations with Moz.

The two incidents left him feeling empty and deepened his depression. He made his way back to the front desk, picked up his overcoat, and headed out into the rainstorm. Stepping outside the wind whipped around him. As he walked the streets of Paris the rain relentlessly pelting him making him cold and miserable.

His was drenched as he arrived at the small bistro a few blocks from his home. He ordered and quickly absorbed a bottle of Pinot Noir while casually flirting with the waitress. He decided on smoked salmon for dinner and a second bottle of wine. Neal ate the meal in silence and continued to drink the ‘nectar of the gods’ as Moz had a habit of saying.

As Les Deux Magots closed for the evening, Neal grabbed the partial bottle of inebriant and stumbled his way home. He walked up the stairs to his apartment and fumbled with the keys before letting himself in.

He stepped across the threshold and closed the door. Two angry looking men were sitting at his kitchen table. He gave them his best grin but they were not impressed. One of the strangers raised a gun, pointing it directly at his chest. Neal knew there was no place for him to run. The man spoke in a deep, husky voice, “Mr. Woodford has a message for you.”

A loud pop echoed throughout the room. Neal looked down, mesmerized as the red stain spread across his blue polo shirt. His knees buckled and he collapsed as his world went black.

Neal startled, waking up in a pool of sweat. Throwing off the blanket, he climbed out of bed and headed for the shower. Under the hot water he let go of the nightmare that haunted him. He dressed and drank a quick cup of coffee. He headed out the door to meander the streets of Paris knowing his demons would be waiting for him again that night.


End file.
